The Shinobi Games
by PureWaterLily
Summary: AU. It's a game of deceit, revenge, greed, assassination, and sabotage. To survive, Hinata must outwit them all, including the serial killer who's already pinned her name on his agenda... Uchiha Itachi.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: It's like a cross between Hunger Games and Liar Games... only Primrose contested instead of Katniss, and Akiyama was never charmed to Nao's side. All sprinkled with the same moe of Mahou Shoujo, Higurashi, and Doubt._

_Things die here. _

_Enjoy._

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The Shinobi Games

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><p><em>II.16.44. Player's target must be dead by the end of each round.<em>

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><p>Hyuuga Hinata wakes up to the vertigo of turbulence on board, the creaks and groans of the walls.<p>

The world is swirling. Same for her head.

She curls her body inwards, cheek pressed against the cushion of her hair. She snuggles to find some softness in her bed, warmth from the scatters of blankets rolled off yet again somewhere. Although there is light, her alarm clock hasn't sounded, and she does not want to crack open her heavy eyelids just yet.

She wishes it weren't a school day, or else she could drift back to sleep. But unfortunately, there is that paper due for philosophy, still incomplete. She recalls how time is running out, thanks to procrastination and her miserable lack of self-control, and an unease settles in. Okay, two more seconds, then get up, she mentally mumbles her command.

Hinata imagines herself rolling off the comfort of her bed, trudging five feet to the left to her desk. She powers her laptop on, about to add the final touch ups until she notices the document is utterly blank, the cursor blinking patiently. Panic settles in, and she remembers how she _hasn't _done it yesterday evening, but left it off till midnight, only to forget it completely. She frets, and wonders if by skipping breakfast with her sister, she might still get it done in time to catch the last express train to school.

Shaking with adrenaline to meet the deadline, she begins to type, her fingers never quite landing on the keys she wants them to, and she backspaces far too often in both frustration and nervousness.

Heading, conclusion, citations. _What is Honor_? Pull up the web browser, a symphony of rapid keystrokes, scroll down. Respect, dignity, glory.

Highlight, copy, paste. The origin of the terminology, the roots tracing back along the lineages.

Open new tab. A chain of links. Page after page of images and texts pop up and zoom in. A hurricane of a collage, a massive time-line whipping backwards: the 1988 elections, the airplane bombings, the world war, the honor killings and suicide brigade, the great opening, the holy crusade, the conquest of the last feudal lord, the era of the samurai, the age of the shinobi...

The age of the shinobi...

_Shinobi_.

Her eyes snap open. She jerks up, folds of curtain sliding down her breasts. Suddenly, the drumming in her head becomes all the more prominent, as does the aching in her body.

Slowly, an unfamiliar place phases into view. Wrong lighting, wrong wallpapers, wrong configuration of colors and space and everything that screams this is not her room, not her sister's room, not anywhere in her house or friend's house or school.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Where is she? How did she get here? Her eyes are wide and dilated in panic, mind scurrying for answers.

But her memory settles in, and pulls up a recent image of something matching in juxtaposition, but not quite there: the image of her assigned room for the past day or days or week. A queen sized bed headboarded against a wall, with an ugly impressionist painting of ships hanging above. An impersonal desk that contained nothing but a single calling card in one of the drawers. An old fashioned, four-paddle ceiling fan overhead that _click-click-click_s as the wind beats the pull chain against itself.

The fan and its noise are the only things that match her memory with this scene.

The comforter and bedsheets pool over from the corner, the mattress stripped, brutally stabbed, and flipped. The lamp is toppled over on top of the backboard of the painting. The chairs are flipped across the room, empty desk drawers on top. There is nowhere to step without splinters of wood or fabrics or glass, everything broken and piled like the aftereffects of a tornado, or the trample of a juggernaut, but remains _recognizable_.

To further decorate the wreck, her clothes are torn, scattered everywhere and on everything except on her body. At the base of her feet is her Samsara 3000 laptop, smashed. The screen is cracked wide open, the wires hanging out.

The floorboards are streaked with scratches of red. Hinata stares at the blood at her heel, a light bulb shard embedded deep. The sight of it registers and brings a sharp pain up her nerves.

However, what seizes her attention is the sight of a small piece of fabric discarded carelessly at the bottom of the bedpost. Ice crawls into Hinata's veins, a breeze against her bare back, as she remains fixated on her underwear, touched and ripped at the side.

The remnants of her last thoughts linger:

_What is Honor_...

… the title of the paper she submitted a month ago. Seventy eight out of one hundred scores. Too much historical citation, lacked analysis, said her professor. Her neighbor classmate, Sakura, had given her words of encouragement and a sympathetic smile, of which she uneasily returned, then strolled down to the dining halls in disappointment.

It's just a draft, she repeated Sakura's words to regain some spirit. She can go home and correct it for a few extra credit. But the revision must be due soon, and she will be humiliated if she turns it in late with the sorry excuse of _I overslept_.

She should wake up now.

There is that paper due.

She should wake up now.

Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP.

_Creak_.

Hinata jumps in alert, as the turbulence swings the front door ajar, its hinges squeaking. The crack faces her, reveals a section of a narrow, ill-lit hallway with rows of mauve doors, all identical except for the room numbers on golden plaques.

Her heart is pounding, and she remembers _it is not safe_.

Her mental mantra slowly changes from wake up, wake up, WAKE UP to get up, get up, GET UP, until a second _creak _jolts her numb. A second _creak _that suspiciously is nothing like the moans and groans from the walls during turbulence. Instead, this _creak_ is the _cr-creak_ of floorboards undergoing a see-saw motion, bending under the weight of a moving body.

Hinata makes no movements. She waits for it again.

Her stomach drops when her expectations are fulfilled. There is another _cr-creak_, a steady pattern coming closer. Someone is walking down the halls.

But who?

Who?

Does it matter who? _Get up, get out_, her mind shouts at her. HIDE, move, move, MOVE.

All that matters is that this person is shadowed in the corridors, while she is exposed in a doomed, trapped room with the fan spinning, every sconce brightly illuminated. Without a doubt, the light has pooled out into the halls, and she will be seen.

She must move. Her body shakes in panic, understanding of the fact. But her brain is too blank to tell it_ how _or _to where. _

Her eyes dart over to the adjacent wall, the door leading to the bathroom. It is too far, and closed. It will be impossible to get there in time, nor can she do so without making a noise, especially when the footsteps are less than a few meters away.

The closet? She whips to the other side, and find the door unhinged, kept from collapsing by a turned over wooden chair.

The bed is her third target. But there is nothing but bare metal coils and springs.

Her head whirls between the three options, the outside sounds now a step away.

She instantly drops her head back down, praying the fan and footsteps muffle any noises she makes, praying she has not acted too late and the person has not seen her move. She snaps shut her eyes, forces still her limbs, stops breathing. It only magnifies the sound of the last step that stops directly before her door.

He gives a push, and it swings open wider, revealing all corners of the room. It takes all of her willpower to stop the trembling in her fingers, force down her breath.

Hinata does not know which is louder in the silence: his breathing, deep and even, or her heartbeat, booming like amplifiers.

He doesn't move, paused. Her body feels laser scanned in full scrutiny. Seconds seem to tick like the slowest of pendulums, tracing a full torturous 120 degree arc before lugging its weight back. Her throat and chest burn and contract with every drop of oxygen depleted, her lungs crushed into a little dried up raisin.

Please leave.

Please leave.

Please- her finger twitches slightly. She mentally pleads it's her imagination, straying far away from the dreaded thought that he caught it in reality.

Oh no. Please god no, please.

Please, just look away and _leave_-.

There is a sound.

It is confirmed to be sound of the turn of a heel when the next creak is beyond the door, the next a little further down the halls.

He is walking away, down the tunnels. The pace is slow, but continuous. Her nerves vibrate lively in intense anxiety once more, not of doom now, but of hope.

And yet, as desperate as Hinata is for air, she waits until she can no longer hear the footsteps. Only then does she dare release the tension in her arm, draw a desperate breath, her chest expanding in relief. She can live another second, get out of this room, find some help or somewhere to hide, figure out what to do, reach _safet-_

"Alive after all."

The voice is cold, monotonous, and distinct enough to chill her bones, string poison up to her heart.

Hinata eyes flicker open against her will, body stunned in a state of cardiac arrest.

It escaped her mind. The possibility of two people walking down the halls, one whose massive weight bent the world underneath him, and another, a ghost to the senses.

Uchiha Itachi is still standing in front of her door, and he doesn't give any preamble when he pulls the trigger.


	2. Chapter 2

_I.01.10. One member of every existing shinobi clan must compete. No exceptions._

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><p><em>BEEP, BEEP, BEEP<em>.

Startled, Hinata bangs her elbow against the wall. Her pillow slides to the floor with an omph, and her comforter quickly follows. She fumbles around, slamming her hand against her nightstand several times before she locates her clock.

With the alarm shut, a serene type of quiet settles in, with the busy chirps, and the distant _shh_ of a gliding air train. Early sunlight filters through large panels of window glass, and the sky is so open, without a single cloud. The window is also set slightly open, inviting a mild breeze.

Hinata stretches, and both her feet make contact with the carpet, as she readies for her day.

After she finishes fastening the last button of her collar shirt, she looks at her reflection. Standardized saloon haircut, fresh pressed clothing, proper emblem of Academy High stitched on her breast pocket. Her toes, covered by black stocking, curl up in anxiety. A pair of hazel eyes hesitantly stares back.

A new term, a new beginning_. _I must... I must make the most of it,__ she thinks, fidgeting with the hem of spring uniform.

Exhaling, she heads off to breakfast, and realizes there is already activity and dim music downstairs.

"H-Hanabi?"

Hanabi doesn't hear from her place on the footstool. High tempo music blasts from a set of heavy DJ headphones wrapped around her neck. Her teeth secure one slice of toast in her mouth, her hands spreading jam on the other slice. Meanwhile, she is concentrated on a textbook propped where the cookbook should be.

There is some concoction bubbling on the stove.

"Hanabi..." Hinata tries again, but her voice is drown out by the music, and she is left standing awkwardly at the doorway. Not having the heart for a third call, she shuffles to the fridge. At the suctioned _pop _of the refrigerator, Hanabi looks up from her book.

"You're up."

"Good morning," Hinata greets mildly, withdrawing a carton of milk.

Hanabi's eyes furtively dive back to her pot. Very quickly, the pot cover violently wobbles around the rim and caps down, and the heat dial turns 90 degrees, off. There is the click of a knife hastily dropped in the sink, and the sound of tap water.

A few final splatters later, Hinata hears the _da-dum _as her sister leaps off the footstool, then joins her by the table. The strong drumming tempo becomes clearer.

Hanabi leans on the back of a chair, and observes how her sister pours a glass milk, careful and attentive, a default smile horrendously mild. The ungainly posture with knees buckled inwards, the way the strips of sunlight makes individual strands of hair glow, how one side of the collar is slightly uneven and the tag is sticking out in the back.

The jelly sandwich stops just short of Hanabi's lips.

"You look cute," she feels obliged to comment, then takes a bite.

Immediately, Hinata looks up in confusion, sees her sister fixated on her clothes. Blinking, Hinata gazes down at her attire, momentarily at a lost for words.

"But it's just my- I guess, t-thank-" The milk overflows. Giving a startled cry, Hinata sets the milk carton upright and dances on her toes across the kitchen, rummaging for a napkin.

Hanabi only scoffs, and tucks the last bite of jelly in between her lips. She locks gaze with her sister's glass of milk. Seconds later, it hits the table, empty, as she wipes her mouth and seizes the blazer hanging off a nearby chair. In one smooth motion, she slides her arms through, straps her backpack, her violin case in a secure grip.

"I'm off." Hanabi does her sister a favor by abruptly tucking in her tag, much to the other's shock, then gives a solid pat and sets out. Without looking back, she sends her daily two finger wave. "Stay strong."

"Ah-" And Hinata cannot think of anything to say in time. The front door slams close, Hanabi's incessant music abruptly cut off.

Very soon, the mansion is silent, everything bigger, colder. However, the loneliness shakes off, and Hinata finds a stack of napkins besides the textbook forgotten on the counter.

Her instinctive thought is to quickly chase after her sister and return the textbook, until she realizes it is not school issued. The page is littered with notes and pencil marks of chemical equations and molecular diagrams, branching Os and Hs. Hiding behind all the vandalism is a labeled sketch of a drooping flower.

Hinata expects to feel the same churning disappointment she always feels whenever when she peeks into Hanabi's inner mind, remembers just how _talented _her sister is, the brightest star in a school of prodigies, while she herself barely remains average.

But to her surprise, Hinata feels a different type of unease, as she stares at the molecular rings, the cold, hard facts in succinct two word sentences, the whole objectified manner that separates this from Hanabi's usual journals and research projects.

Very quickly, she glances away, scared of being caught invading into her sister's privacy.

.

2034. Metropolis of Konoha, population 28.4 million. Shuttle trains soar through air rails, glass buildings spear into the sky, citizens shuffle through the streets. Business center, a cultural phenomenon, the highest standards of living and lowest crime rates.

Transparent banners, electronic news, panels of advertisements and vocalized voices greet Hinata as she dashes across the platform of Konoha's Grand Terminal. The clock tower strikes eight, and she arrives just in time for the train to blow through, whipping her hair in all directions.

Hinata snaps shut her eyes and tightly holds onto her bookbag. When she peeks open an eye, the air train has halted right before her, glass doors sliding open in a vacuumed hiss. Right before the doors completely open, she manages to catches her disheveled reflection... as well as the man directly behind her.

Her heart skips a beat at the glimpse of a bandaged face and bloody welts, large jacket, hysteric eyes, and the gleam of something near her neck. That is all she catches, before the reflection is replaced by exiting passengers.

People in the crowd push her forward. Hinata stumbles in and grabs a bar, too frightened to turn around until the train has started moving. When she does, she sees only a few businessmen captivated in their smart phones, and a pair of chatting school girls.

.

"...e to the x plus integral of q of x, p of x..."

Equations slide up the digital board. Hinata's pencil darts across her notebook. She's resolved. She will not be last; she will not answer incorrectly.

She circles, scrambles to type in her answer and tap submit. When she sees her name light up in green on the front board, she exhales. Not last.

Besides her, there is a chuckle. Hinata glances aside to see Sakura smile at her in amusement.

_Relax_, Sakura mouths, swiveling a mechanical pencil. _It's not a test_.

A blush creeps up Hinata's face, and she averts her gaze, nodding. They both resume onto the next problems, and Hinata can't help but admire Sakura, whose name is always the first to light up in the green. Smart, athletic, popular...

Hinata bites down on her lips. She will just have to try harder. There are bound to be prodigies in the world, but as long as she does her personal best and not burden anyone, she's alright.

Pencils continue to scribble in the background, along with the distant chimes of the school clock tower striking noon.

"Set eight. Y triple prime minus e to the three x cosine-"

And suddenly, the first ten notes of an embarrassingly cheesy 90s love song interrupt the teacher's monotone. Hinata jumps out of her seat when she realizes it is hers, and rushes to dig her phone out from her bag.

Snickers circulate the classroom, causing Hinata's face to burn searing hot.

"Hyuuga-san."

Hearing the teacher's voice, Hinata almost drops her phone. "I- I-"

Hinata glances around the room to see all eyes on her. Even Sakura, with a mix of curiosity and concern. Hinata feels herself visibly shrinking, like an little animal under surveillance. Her heart pounds, she can't breathe, the room begins to tilt and spin and-

A chair slides out.

"Suzume-sensei." From behind, Yamanaka Ino, the class representative, stands up. "Permission to take Hinata to the nurse. She does not look well."

"... Granted."

_I'm saved_, Hinata screams mentally in relief.

Once out of the classroom, Ino guides them down another two halls for extra distance before stopping by the breezeway. Hinata gratuitously takes the break and leans against a wall, pressing the phone tightly to her chest. "T-thank you, Ino."

Ino smirks, a hand at her hips. "Happens to all of us. It's called vibrate. Don't forget next time."

Hinata nods absent-mindedly, while looking down at her phone. Ino is right, of course, being an experienced texter during lectures. But that's not it...

What Ino doesn't know is that only three people have Hinata's number: her sister, her father, and her father's personal doctor. Each are more unlikely to call her than the next, and it almost never rings unless it's a dire emergency. It makes her scared to check which of the three called.

When she gathers enough nerve to flip open the phone, she is caught off guard.

She does not recognize the caller's number. Her expression quickly betrays her surprise, so Ino leans in a little too closely and asks, "What's wrong?"

"Ah- I- I don't know this caller," Hinata answers honestly, but shies her phone screen away from Ino's prying nose.

"Spam? Commercial? Did they leave a message? Check to see what it says."

Hinata is pressured to comply. At first, she hears nothing, and starts to think it's an accidental call. But then, a faint noise, and the unsettling sound of breathing.

_/... Hinata_./

And thus, the blood drains from her face. Black spots her vision, and before Hinata knows it, her shoulder has made hard collision with the floor.

.

/... _Hinata, every hour for the next seventy two hours, you will receive a phone call from Shinobi Games representatives until you reply. Do not, I repeat, do not, reply until after you have finished listening to this recording._/

Hinata leans against the bathroom stall, weak in the knees. The tone, the command, the succinctness, there is no doubt who this is. She closes her eyes, and let herself drop down into huddled crouch.

_/If you are currently in a situation where you cannot listen to this recording in whole, hang up, turn off your phone, and proceed as if this is another commercial spam message, until you find the fastest opportunity to listen in whole. If there is anyone in your presence who is not a close blood family member you absolutely trust, hang up, turn off your phone, and proceed as if this is another commercial spam message, until you find the fastest opportunity to listen in private. If you now have the time, and are absolutely certain your privacy is secured, please ready yourself and listen carefully to what I have to say._/

"Hinata, you alright?" Sakura gets off the bench the second Hinata steps out of the bathroom.

Hinata jolts up, not sure when Sakura arrived, nor when classes ended. From the lively halls now filled with movement and chatter, she guesses it is already lunch break, with floods of students off to the canteen.

"Y-yes."

"Hinata, girl, you _fainted_." Ino shakes her head in disapproval. "What is up?"

Under Ino's questioning eyebrow, Hinata is practically dancing on her toes. "Ah, I- um- I-"

/_First, under no circumstances are you to reveal the contents of this phone call to anyone who is not a close blood family member you absolutely trust_./

Hinata's mind is drawing blanks, her tongue tied. Her pulse is quickening because she cannot think of a lie, can _never _think of a lie that would be convincing enough until way after the fact. Maybe when she is at home, at her desk, or at the sink brushing her teeth, she could think of something to explain why she fainted after listening to a phone message, why she looks so tattered and distressed even after rinsing her face with cold water three times, why she is acting so strangely and different, because /_From now on, you trust no one, tell them nothing, make no changes in your behavior_./

Hinata cannot lie, but she is not so innocent as to not come up with some good ones. Like, it was some advertisement asking if she wanted flavored condoms_. _Or maybe, the voice sounded like a certain boy she liked. Or even, her sister left her cellphone at home, and was using her friend's to tell her don't bother cooking, because she'll be crashing over her newly made boyfriend's place. All of these are certainly heckling, and she has a history of fainting on a lot less.

Unfortunately, when on the spot, none of these comes to mind.

Thankfully, Hinata is rescued again, when Sakura laughs, "Hinata, I know you're embarrassed, but it's really no big deal. Everyone in class will have forgotten about your _Love Love Me Me_ ring tone after lunch."

The ring tone has all but escaped Hinata's mind, but the second it is mentioned, she automatically flushes red. The reaction is one hundred percent natural, along with the stammering.

It saves her, because she looks to be having another embarrassing day that will have her tossing and turning at night, burying her head under a pillow.

It saves her, because she _doesn't_ look like a girl who has just received a call for her supposedly-deceased cousin speaking of lucrative things to scare her.

And thus, she quietly tags behind Sakura and Ino to the canteen, watching Sakura's lips move, forming words related to volleyball, and internships, and the latest movie.

/_There will people be trying to kill you. These people may very well be your teachers, your neighbors, and your friends. Proceed as if each of them is waiting for the opportune time to point a loaded gun between your eyes and shoot._/

Hinata does not say much when she sits with a group of her classmates at a lunch table, tries to not choke when she dryly swallows down her rice. She isn't listening to gossips about the boys in locker room 3A, or about someone recollection of a funny dream, nor is she even aware her nod means she accepted their invitation to an ice cream social.

/_Lock and secure all doors and windows of your home. Suspect everything you eat to be poisoned. If you must be outside, travel and blend in with a large crowd of commoners. Keep your eyes keen, and exercise your best judgment. Do not do anything or go anywhere that makes you feel instinctively uneasy_./

"The 1970s marked a change of economic progress and the upstart of international trade..."

Her writing has turned very mechanical, copying everything the teacher says onto her tablet. Senseless words, meaningless words.

/_Hinata, everything I say from now on, I am going to assume you know nothing, and that your family is dead. I can only wish that is not the case, and your father is alive and has informed you of the Shinobi Games. Whether he has or has not, you will soon understand this is very much real, and your life is in danger. Please listen carefully, the Games is an elimination death tournament... _/

"Hey, Hinata, where are you-"

"I-I'll need to use the bathroom," she excuses herself with a deep bow. After another glance at the clock tower in the distance, Hinata dashes down the halls, to an empty bathroom in the far isolated nanotechnology wing.

/... _I have failed, but you will not. It's funny. I will be honest. I have hated you, Hinata. While you had everything, my father was dead, my mother was dead, and my entire existence was devoted to nothing but this. But only now do I realize I should have been nicer to you, been gracious. You are a beautiful girl, Hinata... Hinata-sama, you make this clan proud, and I am honored to serve you. Even if I die, as long as you live, so does the Hyuuga. _

/The following is a recording of player, _Hyuuga Neji_, to delegated successor,_ Hyuuga Hinata_. The contents have not been edited nor altered in any manner. In exactly one hour, a Shinobi Games representative will contact you via this number. Please be ready to either accept or decline your position as successor./

It is sixty seconds to four o'clock. Hinata drops her bag on the floor. She withdraws her phone, and snapping shut her eyes, presses the power button. Her phone instantly illuminates, showing her an archive of three messages, numbers unknown, from one o'clock, two o'clock, and three o'clock on the dot. Hinata has to hold onto the edge of the sink for support, but her grip fails her and she collapses to her knees.

15:59:58.

15:59:59.

16:00:00.

There is silence.

Then, never has the bubbly tune of a pop love song seemed so haunting. Her phone is flashing to life, vibrating, the same four keyboard cords bouncing off the bathroom walls.

The cellphone makes contact with ceramic tiles, a corner dented and scratched slightly, but continues to chime and buzz on the floor. And yet, Hinata is too shocked to answer, her heart crawling all the way up throat, palpitations of fear surging down to her toes. Instead, she holds her breath, staring at her phone twist and jerk against the tiles in cardiac arrest.

Let it die...

Don't pick it up.

Just let it die.

Let it die.

The phone plays its last chorus, the whole process not more than fifteen seconds. And yet, it seemed to have stretched for an eternity before _Love Love Me Me_ stops, there is the bling of a new message, and the phone goes dead.

Hinata waits in silence for a long time. Finally, when she is the positive the call has ended, she dives down for her phone and listens to the voice mail.

She hears the exact same synthetic recording: genderless, mechanical, toneless. /This message is for _Hyuuga Hinata_, the delegated successor of _Hyuuga Neji _of the _Hyuuga_ clan. In exactly one hour, a Shinobi Games representative will contact you via this number. Please be ready to either accept or decline your position as successor./

The phone is loose in her grip. Hinata is on the brink of hyperventilation. This isn't a nightmare that will go away. They will keep calling, they will keep looking for her.

No, no, this is a joke. She wants to tell them to stop it, because they are doing a good job of scaring her senseless.

This must be another one of her father's test. Yes, he has been testing her gullibility since day one, but his medications are messing with his mind, and his lies are becoming too outrageous. He cannot expect his junior high daughter to fall for something as ridiculous as this... these games, shinobi, killing. This isn't the movies. Shinobi and murder don't exist anymore. Real life is all about going to school and getting a job. Real life is worrying about taxes and money and illnesses like cancer or heart failure.

And her cousin. Neji has been studying abroad for the past four years. Her ill father is in a delusion, and Neji is a bully to be going along with it and pretending he's dead. He needs to cut it out.

Please, both of them... cut it out...

It's not funny.

She's really scared, really really really scared and-.

A yelp escapes her throat when the bathroom door opens.

"Hey, there you- Hinata, are you _crying_?"

It is only Sakura.

Sakura, the popular girl who has been her closest friend since primary school. Tutored and helped her on homework, went ice skating together, split a peach frozen yogurt, invited her to sleepovers at her home, kicked on three boys' shins when they laughed at the stuck gum they stuck in Hinata's hair. She is as kind as she is popular, as she digs through her school bag for a packet of tissues. Kneeling down, she places a firm grip on Hinata's shoulders and offers to dry her tears.

"Hinata, what is wrong" Sakura murmurs, when Hinata refuses the tissue, instead burying her face into her knees, soaking her stockings with shameful wet blotches. "Come on, you've been acting weird all day. You know, if anyone's picking on you, you can be guaranteed they'll meet my fist. I do have a spiker's punch."

Sakura tries to lighten the mood, as she wraps her arms around Hinata in a warm hug. "It's not just about what happened in class, is it?" She remains as perceptive as ever. "What is it? Bad grades? Did something happen to your dad? Come on, you can't keep it bottled in. Let me help."

And Hinata wants her help. Wants it very badly, be told everything is alright, and let Sakura come up with a solution, because she's smarter than her, and can handle any situation, even this one.

But unlike all the other times when she confided in Sakura about her grades, or her family, or her crush, she cannot blurt it out, only hold tightly onto Sakura's arm.

"S-sakura," she stutters, her voice in a high squeal. "Please... please don't leave me." Hinata knows her pleading sounds pathetic, as she clutches her friend's arm tightly, and buries herself into Sakura's chest.

But Sakura won't judge her for this, Sakura already knows she's horribly helpless, whether it's testing or P.E. exams, and has only cheered her on, bandaged her bruises whenever she fell.

After all, they are friends. Every time at the smoothie cafe, Sakura gushed about all their secrets to her and squeaked about her celebrity crushes. Every time it was testing time, they would exchange a glance and wish each other good luck. Every time it was horrible, horrible gym time, they ran together on the track field. Then in the changing room, they'd fondle, and gossip, and Sakura would glare at Hinata's breast and scowl she needed to drink more milk.

They are friends, Hinata internally tells herself again.

"Come on, even if you don't want to talk about it, we should at least get out of the _bathroom_. It reeks in here." Sakura forces a wry grin, and extends her hand. When Hinata accepts it, she pulls the both of them up, stumbles backwards from Hinata's weight against her.

They cross the vacant wing, with nothing but the sound of their footsteps. From the second floor, Hinata glances outside the windows, watching the last of the students filing out the gate, a small soccer game about to end in the fields. The evening sun is still bright, the sky still clear except for a few brushes of cloud.

On the stairs, Hinata's foot gives away, and she nearly stumbles.

Sakura has her arm. "Don't worry, I've got you," she says confidently. But there is also a little crease between her eyebrows that betrays her concern, because Hinata's behavior is starting to worry her. And so, when her cell phone rings, she tells Ino and the girls to go on without her, that she'll be catching the late train.

"You're getting dizzy," Sakura notes as she sets Hinata down on a chair in the canteen. "Let me go to the vending machine, and get you a drink," she says, jerking a thumb behind her. "Put some sugar in your blood."

And as Hinata watches her dash off, she closes her eyes and thinks how Neji, if it really is him, is wrong. She can trust Sakura. If no one else, at least her.

"Ah, sorry. I know you like the red bean flavor, but there was only melon left," Sakura says apologetically when she returns, holding up two cartons of milk.

"T-that's fine. Thank you." It takes three misses before Hinata finally punctures the straw through the paper tab, and even when she sips, she only tastes sand.

Meanwhile, Sakura takes a sip of her own, then rests her cheek against a fist. "I'm here all night, Hinata. Whenever you're ready."

Hinata fidgets with her carton, staring intensely down at the table. She can trust Sakura. She can trust Sakura. She will have some help, and she will not go through this alone. The hope festers, and the idea tempting and comforting, and Hinata fidgets more, think of what it would be like to have Sakura tackle this problem for her as she did with all insurmountable questions on those physics problem sets.

So with a breath, she looks up shyly up to meet Sakura's gaze. "P-promise me you will not tell anyone?"

"Promise."

.

"... I-I thought my father was delirious from the medication... and Hanabi took it all in and returned to her old self in under a month... it made everything easy to forget."

Hinata couldn't say any more. Her throat is dry. She is out of words.

Meanwhile, Sakura has Hinata's phone pressed against her ear. As she listens to the voice mails, she stares at the ceiling, her expression unreadable. Her own carton of milk has been long forgotten in her hand, and it is a while before she finally closes her eyes and straightens herself in her chair.

"That is... a lot to absorb," she finally admits, carefully placing the phone back down on the table.

"Please, I'm not lying-!"

"You don't lie, Hinata," is the dry reply. "But you could be... tricked."

Hinata swallows down her fear that the worst will come, that she will lose a friend now because Sakura will most definitely think she's retarded, or crazy.

But after another heart-wrenching silence, Sakura finally returns from the confines of her mind and bounces back. She smiles awkwardly and says with the last of her energy, "I believe you."

Three words that shattered everything, stopped the trembling in Hinata's knees, and brought warmth and familiarity back into the empty school canteen. "You-"

"I trust what you say, Hinata, though I have to admit this whole thing is overwhelming. Is it okay if I go over all the facts again with you?"

Hinata nods quickly.

"Six months after your cousin went abroad, your father told you and your sister that he never left Konoha, but was... killed," Sakura has to struggle with the word, but she overcomes it. "In a competition called the Shinobi Games, held once every four years, where players essentially kill and rob other players before they are killed and robbed. According to your father, this tournament is known only to clansmen of shinobi blood, the controllers of the game are virtually omnipresent, and if you don't play, lose, or die, then there is a possibility that your entire family and extended families gets massacred with you. The police will never know, the media will never know, and you will just disappear off the face of the earth. Three and a half years later, you get this phone call in your cousin's voice telling you almost the exact same thing, and that it's your turn to compete."

Hinata shrinks in her seat and delivers a nod of confirmation.

Sakura pauses, then asks, "Neji... have you tried calling him before?"

"A month after he left."

"And no answer."

"I- I got upset at him," Hinata confesses. "Neji-nii-san wasn't happy at our home. Otou-san didn't treat him the best, and Hanabi is... Hanabi. I felt sad when he left us without a word, but when he didn't answer his phone, I... I thought he no longer wanted contact with the family..."

"Did you try again after your dad told you the story?"

"About a few days later..."

"And nothing."

Another nod.

"Did you try _searching _for him? The internet?"

The question is unexpected, and Hinata suddenly feels trapped by it. She begins trembling, and shakes her head. She didn't look for him. She didn't question anything. She just accepted whatever her father said, then tried to forget as soon as possible.

Catching onto her panic, Sakura quickly says, "Don't blame yourself, I wouldn't believe the story either. Even now, I'm still trying to grasp the idea of modern day _shinobi clans_. According to the textbooks, the last of them died in the 17th century, and any historical recordings of them have been so twisted by mythology, we know almost nothing of them at this point. Still, the fact that your father would tell you this, followed by this call makes it all... unnerving. All I can say is that it was made to scare you, Hinata, although who would want to pull such a prank is beyond me."

"B-but, it's not- t-that really is Neji-nii-san's voice..."

"Hinata, the last you heard from him is four years ago, and memories fade. The recording _wants _you think it's your cousin, and once you start thinking it's his voice, the more it sounds like him. But I think it's another computerized voice synthesized to sound like him... or close enough to him that will fool the listener."

Hinata's eyes widen. "Then what do I do?"

"_We_ research." Sakura is already retrieving out her netbook.

"What?"

"Research," Sakura states firmly. "As of now, I see several possibilities. The first, and most improbable, is that your father and these phone calls speak the truth: that there is a sick underground community trying to pit people into killing each other. In this case, our first priority is to inform the police and authorities. The second possibility is that these phone calls are also your father's doing, though I cannot fathom why. And finally, the third and most likely scenario..."

Sakura stops typing and looks up. "Someone, somehow, managed to listen into that conversation you had with your father three years ago, and is now using that material to psychologically manipulate you into doing something illegal."

And with that, Sakura returns to the screen, her fingers gliding through the keys at a phenomenal rate.

"Whoever doing this is smart. As ridiculous as a death tournament sounds, it draws "fact" from two very personal sources – your father and your cousin. The former is in a coma, the latter in another country; you can't contact either. He then makes you paranoid and scared by saying people are out to kill you. Tells you to trust no one, don't confide anyone with this information. Your friends, your neighbors... notice how he's isolating you from anyone who can possibly help you. It puts you in a vulnerable state where you can't reach out."

Hinata is speechless. After a few mere moments, Sakura has managed to figure everything out. Sakura is right, and Hinata cannot believe how stupid she is now, doubting herself even when the joke is blatantly ludicrous. Maybe her father is right to test her gullibility in her youth, because she has truly been acting like a lost fool.

Sakura drags through the sensor pads and clicks, as she continues, "Even if this is a prank, I'm worried of your safety, Hinata. Take your sister and stay with me or a friend's for a while, because someone is definitely stalking and harassing you. He would know you and Hanabi live alone, and in a quiet upper district. You're both isolated, and there's no adult there to protect you two." Sakura pauses, then smiles as she turns her netbook an one-eighty. "But it's alright now. I'm really glad you trusted me... I can guarantee whoever dares mess with friends of mine will get an ass-kicking."

Hinata has to hold her breath. On the display is the name of her cousin, his current address and phone number. School registration ID, department of Mechanical and Aeronautics Engineering. Links to four cross-referenced news articles and journal entries mentioning his name, last dated eleven months ago. He recently won a decathlon.

"First place. Not bad for a dead man, eh? For 650 yen, it can also pull up his email, criminal record, and even heating bills and tax history."

"T-that's amazing," Hinata stutters. "How did you find him?"

Sakura whips around the screen and winks. "Okay, don't judge, but some cute guys are worth the 650. Anyway, he's obviously alive and well. We can call his new number and confirm this whole scam. In the meantime, I'm going to hook up your phone and download the messages. If the person does call again in... let's see, the next fifteen minutes, I'll have my laptop record the conversation. If we capture anything threatening or incriminating enough, we can report it to the police, and they'll trace the source of the call. Sounds good?"

Yes, incredibly, and Hinata is still absolutely bewitched.

"Y-yes, let me get my-" Hinata stops, and realizes, "oh no, I- I think my bag is still in the bathroom..."

Frowning, Sakura fumbles through her own bag. "I don't think I brought my cell phone cord with me... okay, stay here, I'll go get your-"

"Ah no, I'll do it," Hinata volunteers, and quickly jumps up.

There is a pause, before Sakura purses her lips. "Okay, I'll configure my netbook in the meantime. Be quick, we need to get that cord by the time the call comes."

With a nod, Hinata sets off. The canteen door swings behind her, and she darts down the hallways with a ginormous load off her shoulder.

With Sakura's expertise, if all goes well, this whole fiasco will be resolved by tonight. Life will go back to normal again, and she may even talk to Neji again, see how he's doing. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach, she understands that recording brought some bizarre form of hope.

/_I should have been nicer to you, been gracious. You are a beautiful girl, Hinata..._/

If only the real Neji thinks that too, she thinks, biting her lips.

In their childhood together, Neji has always been bitter, cold, and distant. But Hinata could understand. When she lost her mother at eight, she felt the pain he did, could sympathize with him, who lost both of his parents at an even younger age. She could sympathize, but she couldn't help him. Plus, Neji was always busy with work, glared at her like she was nothing more than a nuisance, and sneered whenever they passed corridors. It made her run away.

However, she's grown up now... Hinata takes in a deep breath, determined. She's going to reach out to him and tell him he's still family, that she misses him and hopes he comes back soon. Even if he ends up hanging up on her, she's going to tell him she loves him before it's too late.

.

Long after Hinata's footsteps have faded, Sakura drops her smile.

She gets to work. Very quickly, her hands dance across the keyboard, minimizing her software download, and pulling up a new browser. A strand of letters strings out. SHINOBI.

She drags out three pages, scrolls through them, eyes flickering back and forth, mentally highlighting key words: _legends... warring states... conquest of last feudal lord... Edo restoration... shogunate... the great opening... mercenary... popular culture... fables and tales_. Double click. _Invisibility... nature manipulation... animal communication... sealing scrolls... cinematic portrayal... historical literature... The Tenth Moon... Journey to the West... Dokonjou Ninden. _

With the command of a key, she switches the pages, and edits her search. CLANS, SHINOBI.

… _emphasized secrecy… lost records… formed in clan traditions... blood connection..._

CLANS, SHINOBI, MODERN.

No results.

CLANS, SHINOBI, POST 1600.

No results.

GAME, SHINOBI.

… _Battle Ninja 8000, 5900 yen... Ainori Dating Show... SEYA manga series.._.

HISTORY, SHINOBI, 16TH CENTURY.

… _as with the samurai, the shinobi faded after the turn of the 1580s... last rebellion... underground formation... exposure to the New World and Religion... one scholarly article found: On the Lineage and Assimilation of Clan Delineation. _Link not found.

In frustration, Sakura chews her lips. CLANS, SHINOBI, HISTORICAL RECORD. Load next page, next, next, backspace. FAMILIES, HISTORICAL RECORD, KONOHA.

… _Metropolis of Konoha... population... genealogy records... city census..._

Sakura scrolls back up and her eyes widen. Almost instantly, she shoves the page to the side and opens up a spreadsheet.

KONOHA, POPULATION.

KONOHA, BIRTH AND MORTALITY RATES.

KONOHA, IMMIGRATION HISTORY POST 1900.

Sakura is rapidly inputting numbers and algorithms, select and drags. Enter. The spreadsheet complies, loads, flickers, before a page of dense numbers stares back. With shaking hands, she highlights four lines.

1994. 116,409.

1998. 741,665.

2010. 323,942.

2026. 102,115.

KONOHA, YEAR 2026, MISSING PERSONS.

KONOHA, YEAR 2026, ACCIDENT.

4,103 hits. _… earthquake strikes the lower Kikyo district... eight missing children in Akagahara... family of four dies in fire, neighbors expresses grief for Uchiha..._

KONOHA, UCHIHA TRAGEDY_._

… _energy leak in police station causes casualties... family of four dies in fire... Naka district finds suicide..._

UCHIHA.

By the end of Sakura's search, she is back at the first page she visited, staring at one line. _Common fifteenth century folktale speaks of two clans of legend, the Senju and the Uchiha._

The whole thing has just been a hunch, something about the dates Hinata gave that jogged Sakura's memory. She didn't expect to find anything. And yet, from one quick browsing, she has found that in the year 2026, there have been 102,115 deaths unaccounted for in the population census, a startling discrepancy compared to say, 2024 with only 7, or 2025 with 188.

Not only that, she also learned that in 2026, there have been a minimum of 108 people who share the surname or maiden name of Uchiha all dying within one month of each other.

Equally, if she recalls correctly, it is in that same year, same summer Hinata's mother died. And Sakura is almost positive that in 2026, she had grief for a few others who had passed away, coincidentally also around the exact same period in time.

However, before she can remember exactly _who_ these other people were, the first ten notes a 90s love song echoes in the large, empty canteen. Sakura automatically checks the clock.

17:00:00. Even at a leisurely pace, Hinata should have been back with the cord a long time ago.

Fortunately, half way into the third repeat of the main chords, Sakura hears the doors open.

"Cutting it a little too close, ne?" she chuckles, and turns around. "Come on, hurry, there's still-"

The cell phone finishes its last ring in pieces on the floor.


End file.
